Fathers
by Sophia Lawliet
Summary: Life was a cruel thing.  It took away the people you needed to lean on, each and every one of them, leaving you with nothing but fragmented memories.


People who she started to think of as a father had the tendency to die.

First it was her father himself. Tall, handsome, intelligent. Dark curly hair and grey eyes, just like everyone else from the Seam. Confident. Cheerful despite of their dismal condition. Reliable. He held the family together, in more than one way. Without his hunting and work in the mines, they would have died. But it was also his voice. Pure, beautiful, echoing through the trees. If the mockingjays bothered to copy it, you had to know it was golden.

He was her friend. Her supporter. Her teacher.

The same mines that helped him support his family took his life. Snatching him away from her forever, ripping away the person closest to her. Life was cruel, and it wasn't done with its game.

There was no one for over four years, no one to grab onto. No one to look up to or lean on. And then Cinna came along.

In the begin, the stylist and her father seemed all too different, but after they were both gone, she began to see the similarities. Both were simple, not over exuberant. His was handsome, too, but in a different way. Smaller, but not small, with brown hair and the most brilliant eyes. Cunning. He knew how to play his game. Smart, subtle, like fencing. Playing it like an underdog. Taking little stabs here and there, not enough to really do too much damage. Until the final blow. Something so explosive, so brilliant, that it would never go unnoticed. But he was a martyr, too. He channeled his emotions so no one would get hurt but himself. He would be remembered forever.

He was her confident. Her ally. Her biggest fan.

And that was a good thing, because his final strike left nothing but his memory and his lifeless corpse. But life wasn't quite finished. Three times was the charm, as the saying goes.

She didn't like him right away. He was different from the others. Taller, more serious, so much more military. And so in line with Coin. Or so it seemed. Boggs was more subtle than the others. A gentle hand on her shoulder, a closed mouth when he should have reported her. His devotion to her was less obvious. It didn't all come together, it didn't make sense, until the mission to the Capitol. That was when he told her right out. That he was willing to put himself in harm's way for her.

He was her defender. Her lookout. Her commander.

She didn't have a chance to say thank you. He was dead before she had the chance, still trying to offer advice with his dying breaths.

They were all ripped away from her, one by one. Leaving as they came, never to return.

So it was just Katniss Everdeen. Without a father to look up to. Because Haymitch was a Victor, like she was. And Victors could never quite be there for each other, not when they needed to be there for themselves.

Her father was blown to smithereens, literally. There was nothing left to bury. But that didn't stop her from having a tombstone made, and put in the cemetery with the other dead, as a memory. It was some generic grey stone she didn't know the name of, medium sized, rough around the edges. _Are you, are you, coming to the tree?_ _I miss you, dad. _Short, sweet.

They recovered Cinna's body a few weeks after the war. The tortures inflicted upon him before he finally succumbed to his injuries were obvious. It was a small tombstone, with a circular top, carved from the prettiest blue granite they could find. _My bet's on you, Cinna, and that's coming from the girl on fire. You will be remembered._

Somehow, they found Boggs, too, sans legs and bled white. But Boggs all the same. The tombstone was a light grey, a large rectangular shape with rounded edges. _I may not have done what I came to do, but you did. Thank you for believing in me._

She hadn't wanted to make the messages personal, but Peeta had encouraged it. "They cared about you most. They would have wanted what you wanted to say on their tombstones." So she had written the messages on pieces of paper with a trembling hand, watching carefully as they were carved into the stones Peeta had helped pick. Probably the most unconventional things in the graveyard. But they meant the most.

Every week, she visited. Bringing flowers or plants, a different bunch for each of them.

A bundle of katniss and primroses for her father.

A bunch of orange pansies for Cinna.

And a single white lily for Boggs.

Life left her without a father. But it didn't mean she couldn't remember all three of hers.


End file.
